


Merry-Go-Round

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [7]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Angry Buffy, Dean is Bad at Feelings, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Buffy, Kissing, Mild Smut, Sex in the Impala, Sexual Content, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:23:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7497483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy and Dean work out their issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry-Go-Round

Dean waited in his Impala for his uncomfortable night to begin.

He kept things with women casual and simple -- a couple drinks, a long night, and a clear explanation that he wouldn’t be calling in the morning. Buffy, with her Chosen One-girl war against Hell, family ties and passion for normalcy, could be neither simple nor casual. Even so, Dean felt drawn to her.

But Sam had a point. They couldn’t afford to piss off the Slayer, especially if she was this mad about him talking to another woman. As with most things he wanted in life, Dean packed up the thought of Buffy and closed off that part of himself.

It seemed like he was pissing off everyone lately. Sam had had taken up an invitation from Anya, abandoning him to the night’s tension.

“How is it,” Dean had asked, “that when I’m interested in Buffy, it’s the worst thing in the fucking universe, but you’re goin’ over to Anya’s tonight ‘to finish talking demons’ and that’s just goddamn proper?”

“Because Buffy’s the Slayer! She’s the _only one_! Anya just loves books. She’s interesting and knowledgeable, but she’s not the center of this. She’s not even friends with Buffy and her friends.”

“Don’t leave out the part where you want to fuck her, Sam.”

Sam had stopped speaking to him after that.

Soon, Buffy walked by. Right by. She made fun of his car enough, he knew she saw him sitting there. But she went straight into the graveyard.

Games. Tonight would be childish games.

Dean got out of the car and trotted to catch up to her. They walked in silence. Finally, he asked, “How many tonight?”

“Two.” She shoved a newspaper clipping at him.

“Where’s Sam?” Her words were terse, rage waiting to be unboxed.

“He said he’s got stuff to do.”   

“Stuff didn't come up when I called.”

Dean poked the box. “What do you want, Buffy? Do I need to keep a tighter reign on my brother, or do I need to put all of my attention on you? Which one are you really pissed about?”

She stopped and whipped around, cold fury in her eyes. “I want you to pay attention to what you’re doing. People get hurt when you don’t pay attention.”

“Hurting you is exactly what I don’t wanna do!”

“We’ve been over this, Dean. I don’t need you to protect me, but that doesn’t mean you get to wind me up and toss me aside.”

“I haven’t been doing that.”

“How could I get confused with all the flirting and the touching and the staring? God, you were gaping at me so hard last night, your tongue was practically hanging out of your mouth. But that’s my bad! Obviously you were ‘protecting’ the bartender, too!”

Dean took a step back and let the desire go. “Buffy, your hang up on the bartender aside, I’m not what you want.”

Her scowl deepened. “Oh, now you’re the expert on what I want? That’s great because I don’t even know. Maybe you could tell me when you’re done with the bartender!” She stormed further into the graveyard; he did not follow.

 

* * *

 

Drained from anger, Buffy found the grave of her soon-to-rise, and sat down. A nearby maple had scattered seed pods all over the ground. She set to peeling the helicopters open and throwing the seeds at the vampire’s headstone.

In less than a week, Dean had managed to draw her in with his charm and swagger. Buffy had thought he was nice underneath the cocky exterior, but no, he was just a jerk. She had _thought_ he liked her. Wrong again. She’d thought their flirting at The Bronze was going to end with their bodies tangled in his sheets, but then she caught him hitting on someone else -- making her feel used and teased. She could've handled a fling, but she didn’t want to be one compartment of his revolving door of women.

He may be her ally, but it was important Dean know he was also an ass.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she reached for her stake. It was heading her way. Shifting her position to a crouch, she steadied her breath and waited for it to draw closer. It wasn’t a monster. It was Dean.

“There you are.”

“Oh goody. You found me,” she deadpanned.

“It was already gone. I walked the whole cemetery, but it’s not here.”

Uninvited, Dean sat down, further away than he would have a couple days ago. He picked up a helicopter and tore it to little pieces.

“Buffy,” he said softly, “I don’t think this is workin’. I know you got a lot on your plate, and I want to help; but being here is making things worse. Sam an’ I’ll pack up and leave town in the mornin’.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s right, ‘cuz you don’t want me guessing what you want, even though you’re so damn obvious about it.”

“You seemed fine with it until last night.”

“Nothin’ changed! Yeah, I was flirting with the bartender, but I wasn’t trying to pick her up. It’s how I get info, and that’s the one person in a bar everyone talks to.”

“Looked like she wanted to give you more than information.”

“So she was into me? Not like I’m taken.”

He wasn’t. Buffy had been no more forward than chastely holding his hand.

“We probably should have talked a few days ago.” She tugged her sleeves over her hands. Normally, she was equally good with verbal cutdowns as she was with an ax, but he seemed so ready to skip town, she softened the edge in her voice. “I don’t enjoy head games. You’re not into me. That’s fine. Southern California blonde is not everyone’s favorite flavor, but don’t pretend to be interested when you’re looking for a hookup elsewhere.”

“I wasn't looking for a hookup, and I wasn’t pretending.”

She crossed her arms and waited for more. It was hard to see him smile, let alone at another woman, and not read it as an invitation to bed.

Dean smirked, his tongue darting over his lips. “Moving around the country all the time, ganking demons and putting ghosts to rest, my relationships ain’t exactly...serious. Most a the women I meet are connected to a job. So they’re all distraught or evil. There’s ain’t a lot in between. Sometimes another hunter. Then there’s you. You’re like a cherry red ‘Vet in a world of beige compacts.”  

Buffy knit her brows together. “I don’t know what that means.”

He offered her a small smile. “Means you stand out. You’re strong, and I don’t just mean the fighting, although you’re an awesome fighter. You carry the whole damn world on your shoulders. Didn’t ask for it, but you do it. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re Supergirly…”

“All that wrapped in nice shoes scared you away?”

“You’re kinda out of my league.”

“Out of your league? You think I’m large with league?”

“I should have stopped flirting with you. Superhero good girl like yourself don’t need an anchor like me ‘round your neck.” His head was bowed, eyes focused on the destruction of the helicopters.

“First of all,” she said, “the Slayer is not a part of this. Well, she is because she’s me and I’m her but that’s all confusy and beside the point. Don’t think of me as an up-on-a-pedestal-untouchable-hero, because dear God, that’s lonely. Supergirly needs moments to be just Girly, doing things a normal person does, which very much includes flirting and flirting adjacent activities.

“Second: Stop trying to protect me, especially from yourself.” _Because I can’t resist a boy with issues._

“It’s a habit.”

“You don’t think very highly of yourself, do you?”

He responded by tearing apart another helicopter and avoiding eye contact.

“Here’s a deeply personal question I may not actually want the answer to, but what do you think my life with men is like?”

Dean raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “I imagine most men are inadequate.”

“Most guys think I’m weird. Not the has-a-costume-from-every-Star-Trek kinda weird, but certainly a covered-in-bruises-and-spends-too-much-time-in-graveyards strangeness.”

“They’re missing out.”

She could feel heat rising in her cheeks as he gazed at her. “I’d like to think that, but no one is missing out on canceled dates, ruined evenings, and their girlfriend constantly saving them from distress. Most guys find that emasculating, and I have no interest in propping up a guy’s dainty ego. I tried dating for a while, but great guys don’t usually pop up out of nowhere. The pool I have to pick from isn’t very deep, and I can’t say I’ve always picked well.

“I may not know what I want right now, but I know from experience I don’t need a man to save me. I save me. So please, keep the troubled bad boy act in shitty romance novels and just treat me like a thinking adult.”

Two hands burst out of the ground. “Seriously?” Buffy said, standing up. Within seconds, the vampire had crawled from its grave. “I have no time for you.” She spun and kicked it in the face. “I am trying--” kick! “-- to have --”  kick! “--a conversation!” Stake.

Dean hadn’t moved.

“You didn’t feel like contributing to the class?”

“You don’t need protecting.” Dean beamed. “‘Sides, I like watching you fight. It’s kinda hot.”

She was unable to keep herself from smirking in return. He was right. The flirting was hard to shut down. “Let’s go find the other one.”

Unlike many of the other cemeteries in Sunnydale, this one wasn’t fenced. It was bordered with the road, a church, and woods on two sides. They chose the woods and walked out of the cemetery slower and closer than they’d marched in.

Buffy played with a string of red beads at her throat. “You don’t have to leave, you know. Even if I were still mad at you, I wouldn’t have asked you to leave.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“I think I’ve cooled from rolling boil to simmer.”

“I’ll take it.”

They grabbed each other’s hands for support as they navigated down a brambly hill. His hand was large and warm. She couldn’t stop imagining his calloused fingers all over her skin, but he withdrew at the bottom of the hill.

What little moonlight broken through the trees scattered on his mouth and shoulders in a wash of blue.

“You’re a hell of a woman, but I’m shitty boyfriend material, Buffy. I ain’t what you want.”

A belly laugh burst forth. “I’m not girlfriend material either, Dean. Is that what’s been holding you back? You think I want long walks on the beach and snuggling on movie nights? I’m not delusional. I don’t think I live in a fairytale. And no offense, but you’re certainly not Prince Charming. This is a horror movie. I abandoned the dream of a happily ever after years ago.”

She couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, but she could feel them on her skin taking her in, sizing her up. His full lips twisted into a smirk. “One thinking adult to another, I’d be more than happy to show you a good time, but it can’t be more than that. You didn’t strike me as the one-night stand type either.”

“One?” she asked, her tongue lingering over her teeth. “I count a hell of a lot more nights between now and Will’s return.”

“Shh!” Dean stopped and grabbed her arm. “Hear that?”

Something was moving through the bushes to their left. Buffy crept toward them as Dean slid his machete out from its sheath. “It’s a raccoon.”

“Well, you know, they have rabies and fleas and stuff.”

Mood killed, they traipsed and tripped deeper in the woods, poking at bushes and finding nothing. The woods opened up to a small playground. Dean casually spun the merry-go-round.

“There was this playground in Sioux Falls Bobby used to take us to sometimes when he couldn’t stand having us in his house anymore. Sam always loved these things. We’d take turns pushing to see who could stay on the longest without getting sick. I usually won. Guess I’m better at getting turned around.” He gave it a big push and jumped on.

Buffy caught flashes of his bright, boyish smile. “Sometimes I think you’re twelve.”   

“Gotta grab happiness when you can, Girly. Hop on.”

Buffy grabbed the rails, pushed and jumped on opposite Dean. She couldn’t help but giggle.

As the spinning slowed to a crawl, they both let go of the safety rails and reached for each other. Dean, his hand pressing the small of her back, held their bodies close. His fingers entwined in her hair, cradling her head. She could feel his heart drumming her name.

He leaned in and kissed her, his lips as soft and sweet as she’d imagined. He parted her lips with his tongue, and she, with a slight moan, was more than happy to let him taste her.

Eventually, their deep, gasping wanting trailed back to small, sweet kisses. The spinning stopped, and they remained kneeling on the merry-go-round, foreheads together, hot breath on one another’s cheeks.

“Buffy,” he whispered, her name a gasp, “I’m still leaving in a few weeks.”

“That sounds deliciously uncomplicated,” she said, tilting her head up to nibble his ear. Her hands trailed down his torso and crept back up under his shirt.

“Where?” he asked, burying his lips in the hollow of her throat.

The siblings made her house and his motel out of the question. Romance-and-flowers Buffy may have died, well, when she died, but she didn’t want to get down and dirty in a dirty, rundown warehouse like she had in her more desperate moments.

“I know a place.”

 

* * *

 

Eager was too gentle of a word to describe Buffy’s sexual appetite. Her kisses became harder, bruising as they neared the car, her breath a ragged panting.

Though it had been a long, dry stretch for him too, Dean wasn’t about to let his first night with her be a quicky. He slowed the pace with long kisses on her neck, drawing patterns on her skin with his tongue. When her panting turned to low moans, he drew her into the backseat, removing her clothes one layer at a time, and only after he felt like he’d kissed and caressed every inch of visible skin. By the time he was kneeling in the wheel well, his face buried in her, all of her edges melted away, her throbbing need for someone replaced with flushed desire for him.

The Impala’s windows were still foggy. Their legs entangled, his corded arms around her as she laid on his chest. Their sweaty skin stuck to the seats, stuck to each other. He slid his fingers up her shoulders to comb through her hair, and a satisfied sigh escaped her.

“Still simmering?”he asked.

“Even if I could think straight, I couldn’t be mad at you.”

“So I take it we’re doing that again soon.”

“Very.” She stretched to kiss the bottom of his jaw, nipping lightly at the skin before settling back into his arms.

This was one of Dean’s favorite moments, holding a woman high on bliss, smelling her hair, her silky skin gracing his rough hands. After sleeping with him, some women would rush to the shower, gather up their clothes and leave. They left with smiles on their lips, but the rush of it made him feel unfinished. Good nights involved more than getting off; they were about connecting, a physical moment that made him feel human again.  

Buffy traced his tattoos with her fingertips. “What are these?”

Most of the time, his tattoos were hidden, but several women over the years had asked about them, assuming his nakedness meant he felt like telling secrets. “Charms and memories.”

She ran her hand over his left bicep, a labyrinth of black squiggles in the dark, squeezing gently. “Charms for what?”

“Bunch a protection symbols. Gotta few crosses, St. John’s arms, Sign of the Horns.” So far, they hadn’t helped, but they hadn’t hurt either. He pointed to a large, multi-armed wheel. “This one’s ‘The Helm of Awe.’ Viking thing. Thought it sounded pretty badass. It’s supposed to protect warriors going into battle, but Sam said that’s only if it’s between your eyes.”  

“Oh, that sounds sexy.”

She moved her hand to his chest. Over his heart, was a bleeding heart wrapped in a banner that said Mom. Beneath it, two dogtags. One said Winchester, John. He wasn’t sure how much of them she could make out in the dim light, but he merely shook his head when her fingers lingered over them. A life on the move meant he kept mementos on his skin, and those memories weren’t for casual post-coital small talk.

She pointed to a nearby pentagram surrounded by fire. “This one?”

“It keeps demons from possessing you.”

A shiver shook her. “You cold, Girly?” He rubbed his hands over the gooseflesh on her arms before covering her with the blanket they’d kicked to the floor during round three.

“You say scary things sometimes and so casually.” She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, her doe-eyes transfixed on his tattoo. “Fighting evil is my gig, but I’ve never thought to brand a ‘closed for business’ sign on my skin. Have you ever..?”

“Nah,” he said as nonchalantly as possible. “Those bastards stay away from me. It’s just a precaution, like insurance or waiting twenty minutes after lunch before swimming.”

The soft glow she’d had was wiped away by worry, but from tales of demons or disbelief in him, he couldn’t tell. “What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Lot like here, except I exist. Got good burgers and John Wayne movies. What more could you ask for?” He pulled her into his lap, trailing his mouth down her neck while stroking the back of her thigh.

“No, like, what’s your typical day? Do you fight monsters every day or is that like a once a week thing? Are demon-possessed people common?”

“Those sound like Slayer questions,” he said, slipping his hand under the blanket and running his fingers along the soft skin under her breasts. “Thought you wanted to do more typical things?”

A half smile returned to her lips as she shifted, her legs curled around his thighs. “There’s nothing typical about what we just did,” she said before nibbling his bottom lip.

“Which time?”

“Any of them.” Feeling his excitement, she bucked her hips against his. “And whatever comes next.”

A low moan rose from his throat as he savored the feeling of her warmth against him. He wasn’t  sure how many condoms he had left. “You’re up for more already? We haven’t exactly been takin’ it easy.”

Her eyes were lust-blown; the thought of demons far from her mind. “Oh, it takes more than that to wear me out, Dean. Slayer perk.”

“Challenge accepted,” he said as he slipped his hand between her thighs.

 

* * *

 

Buffy Summers was doomed. For their one night together, Angel was a gentle lover. Riley a missionary-devoted traditionalist who thought oral was always tit-for-tat, and who she had to push into kinkier territory. Spike pure animal lust; fucking at its most primal. Dean Winchester was none of that. All the men she’d been with, ultimately wanted to have her like she was a carnival prize. Dean, kneeling before her, licking and sucking her, wanted to please her. She would be devastated when he left in a few weeks.

Unfortunately, she could feel responsibility knocking.

Dean avoided the idea of getting dressed by trying to distract her with his lips and fingers. Distraction was currently traveling across her collarbones.

“Mmm, we really should get going.”

Distraction moved on to her nipples.

“You ass.” She pushed him off with a grin.

He sat back, his heavy-lidded eyes panning her body. Far from wolfish, his gaze made her feel beautiful, adored.

“We’ll have to figure out someplace we can go for a weekend so you can finish the challenge.”

His smirk bloomed into a full smile. “A weekend?”

“You’re gonna need days and more space than your backseat. Unfortunately, you have work on Monday.” She nudged him with her foot, afraid if she kissed him like she wanted to, they’d still be in the car at dawn.

“It’s the weekend now.” He flashed his bright smile, the con man grin.

Her muscles started to tense again, and her old friend worry returns to its seat in her stomach. “I have a sister to get back to,” she said, feeling in the dim light for her panties. “She worries when I don’t come home.”

His face shifted from playful to understanding. Grabbing some clothes from the floor, he said, “Sam does, too.” He handed Buffy her shirt and slid on his boxers.

“What the---?” She found her panties hanging from a little green army man stuck in the ashtray. “You let kids into your precious car?”

“Didn’t have a choice. That’s my brother’s.”

“Sam’s a little old for toys,” she said while putting on her cami.

“Well, he didn’t put it there yesterday. He got it stuck there when he was, I don’t know, six or somethin’. It’s just sort of been there since.”

“Wait, how long have you had this car?”

“My whole life. It was my dad’s. When I turned eighteen, he passed it to me. He might have been trying to make up for some shitty birthdays, but I didn’t mind. Baby’s taken care of me. Now I take care of her. Even rebuilt her once.”

“You built this car?” She was staring at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. With the monsters and the violence stripped away, who was Dean Winchester?

“Yeah.” He focused on lacing up his boots. “Lemme drive you home.”

“Are you trying to protect me again?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. “I’m gonna say that I’m trying to get you to your sister faster, but really I just want ten more minutes with you.”

“Good answer.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first go at a sex scene. I'm not much for being too explicit, but I hope it worked.


End file.
